


C'mon Angel, C'mon Darlin

by Suggilates



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Awkward Flirting, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 22:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suggilates/pseuds/Suggilates
Summary: Patches meets Greirat. Kind of a Prequel to "One Good Honest Kiss"





	C'mon Angel, C'mon Darlin

**Author's Note:**

> This is pre-hood Greirat, as he got it when he was imprisoned for helping Patches  
> I swear to god this was supposed to be pwp  
> Thank you Hambone for all the edits and support! You're da giant rat!

Patches despised greed. The greed of man was a plague. Time and time again, like clockwork, they marched along, uprooting those they met in the wake of their ravenous search for treasure. Patches wasn’t one to take friends, but he was known to take a shine to customers who weren’t too vocal about his luxury prices. He wouldn’t give them a deal, but he’d make note of who came around, and periodically ask around when one would stop their visits. Almost every time, they’d been killed.

Not unusual; hollows walk every road in Lordran, but it wasn’t hollows attacking his customers. Perfectly sane, wandering knights were slaying them in the streets. They would arrive in town and wordlessly start looting. When the place was picked clean they turned to murder, felling those they met for their souls and valuables. Patches took it upon himself to rectify their lust for riches, he’d lost too many paying customers to let it slip any longer.

He only punished those who deserved it, the curious and the covetous. Those who were wise enough could escape his ire easily. Thousands took the bait; he could see the flash of excitement in their eyes at the prospect of treasure, ripe for the taking. They deserved the boot in their back. In the grand scheme, his efforts weren’t much, some would survive their fall, and blinded by rage they wouldn’t learn their lesson, but it helped Patches’ heart to see those who did fall for his ruse get ripped to pieces, like he was hubris’ hand finally striking on the sinful.

For ages he lived like that, traveling from crumbling kingdom to the next, watching the world decay in slow motion as he spent his undeath wandering. He made shaky friendships and plenty of enemies, their faces long since lost in the depths of his mind.

Patches found himself once more in Lothric, an eerie little kingdom, yet populated by humans. Real, living humans, a rarity among the cities plagued by the undead curse. They weren’t immune to the curse, but it hadn’t yet ravaged the land like it had in Lordran. Patches passed for human well enough and tried to do business in the city, but it was packed to the gills with nobles. If there was any breed of man more greedy than a murdering thief, it would be a noble. The scum kept servants and undead slaves under their thumbs, working them to the bone and reaping their profits. The hollowed out undead couldn’t even rouse their spirits enough to speak out against the cruelty of the ruling class, it was sickening. At the very least a murder on the side of the road gave the victim some sort of fighting chance. These human bastards had laws in place to keep people like Patches out of sight and under control, countless undead left in the fields to work themselves till they collapse.

There weren’t enough ledges in the world for Patches to enact his punishment on the masses. The nobles turned their nose up at his second hand goods, disgusted some wanderer was let inside the city. To them he was just some common riffraff, like an ex-soldier begging for scraps in the street.

Patches found himself much more at home in the undead settlement below the high wall of Lothric. The people there were cautious, but friendly. The sense of community was strong, forming under the pressure of the ruling class bearing down on them. The streets were busy, but not uncomfortable, and Patches made sure to visit often. Folks in all states of hollowing and undeath walked shoulder to shoulder, picking through shops and stalls, and chatting.

Patches had also met someone there.

It was on his first visit, still trying to catch his bearings when he saw an older man surrounded by a throng of excitedly chattering undead, he seemed incredibly well liked, as the people around him clapped his back and thanked him heartily. The man had been weaving through the crowd toward Patches when they locked eyes. He gave Patches a smile, the warm kind, that crinkled his eyes. Time slowed as they passed, and the stranger was painted in soft hues for an instant. The details of his face were lost to the sands of time, but Patches could never forget his eyes, they glittered as if lit from within. His shroud was pulled up cutely about his neck, almost as if he was nestled in it. Despite his armor being that of a Lothric infantryman, he seemed , oddly enough, incredibly trustworthy. Patches did not use the word trustworthy lightly, he had to wonder if he had ever actually said the word aloud. But there was something about the way the stranger talked, how he moved, how he greeted those around him, the older man seemed like someone he could sit down and talk with. About what he wasn’t sure, a man like that probably wouldn’t be interested in the lives Patches had ruined. Be it his acute degree of hollowing or his disarming smile, the man didn’t seem like any of the soldiers he’d met over his years, his lack of world weary bloodlust set him apart.

The encounter slowed Patches’ trot to a crawl, his heart kicking into gear as they got closer. The street of undead was by no means rowdy, only busy, but Patches was struck with an urge to get that man alone, somewhere far from the crowd. As they drew close enough to reach out to one another, Patches had already hatched an ingenious plan- he would bump shoulders with him and accidentally drop something (This man seemed like the type to help, of course,) then he could pull them to the side of the street, get them set to right, and ask him his name. The perfect introduction, certainly less violent than his usual introduction, but it seemed like this handsome older man wasn’t the usual scoundrel Patches dealt with.

Patches held his chin high as he __accidentally__ cruised too close to the man. The possibilities raced in his mind, the two of them chatting for hours, Patches showering him in lavish gifts, freshly stripped from the people they punished, and all because of some little shoulder bump! His heart was pounding, only a step away from this chance encounter, the wheel of fate only tipped just slightly by Patches’ hand, and-

The stranger slipped around him with a soft noise of surprise, entirely dodging Patches’ crash course and carrying on, like he’d only just missed colliding with Patches because he was engrossed in thought, and not as if Patches had purposefully altered his path specifically to make an excuse to talk to him.

“S-Sorry, my friend!” The stranger quipped, sounding as if it was his own fault they had nearly caused a scene. Bitter disappointment washed the ideas of grandeur from Patches’ mind, followed by the sheer embarrassment of having gotten so worked up over a pretty face on the street. Of course it was just a fluke, but it was so unlike him to react so strongly. Maybe the years of solitude were catching up to him, not many people were willing to bed a known grave robber, and especially so when the graves were fresh, so to speak. Patches sighed deeply, setting a hand on his hip- oh?

Panic swooped in immediately- his coin purse-! He had it under his armor at all times, tied to his hip-! Patting his sides frantically, he scoured the dirt for where it may have dropped- but it shouldn’t have dropped! He’d once been beaten within an inch of his life and left for dead and that purse still clung to his hip. Patches whipped around, someone must have stolen it. Frantically scanning the crowd, Patches’ eyes snapped back onto the man who had charmed him, as if seeking comfort, and he watched in shock as the man tucked the strings of HIS coin purse into his belt, tying it with a secure knot to his hip. The irony was not lost as Patches shouted

“ _Thief!_ ”

Without turning his head, the man broke into a sprint and Patches thundered after him. Shouting expletives as he ran, Patches watched the pick pocket weave through the crowd, fluid and practiced, as if they were parting for him, leaving openings for the bastard to slip through. Not often did people try to steal from thieves; usually novices, still green from their first few days outside of their home village, or well-seasoned thieves who actually knew what they were doing- but those that had honed their skill weren’t sloppy enough for their hits to notice, you could go about your whole day without realizing you’d been robbed blind. This thief moved like an expert, but such a rookie mistake like getting caught was so bizarre. There wasn’t much time to entertain such a thought as Patches leaned into his run full tilt, he kept getting closer- but not close enough- and the stranger fixed him with that smile every time, like he was leading him somewhere and this was just a fun game. Patches was furious, bellowing after him when he saw the scoundrel round a corner and dip out of sight. The twisting roads of the Undead Settlement would often double back and loop in on themselves, shortcuts in shortcuts across the city.

Lost for a moment, Patches was left to stew in his anger. That purse easily held more coin than most of these rotted hollows would see in an eternity. It hadn’t been easy saving up that much, and he’d worked so hard for it. Not one, but two stinking bluebloods had pissed themselves begging Patches to leave them alone after Patches pushed them off a ledge. Did that thief know how __heavy__ those bastards were? They can afford to eat well and eat they do, it was like trying to roll a boulder off a cliff. Despite the load lightened by his knack for corpse stripping, the noble bastards were cowards enough that even in death they clung to the wall of Lothric, as if their high birth would grant them some sort of gift, claws with which to scale the wall of their home to safety. There was some real excitement in seeing them break their nails in their desperation to climb. When they finally succumbed to hunger and their injuries Patches stripped them naked, even checking their teeth for any gold fillings. It wasn’t just some pocket change he could thumb his nose at and keep walking. Rage sat upon his shoulders like a gargoyle upon a church’s roof, heavy and wholly unpleasant. Even if he could bring himself to cut his losses, where would he go? Lothric was a barren land, crawling with invaders looking to protect their turf, not many sane folks left to rob. He’d never make back what he had in his purse! _Damn!_ And he’d had such high hopes when their eyes met. The thief had seemed, embarrassingly to admit, trustworthy. The crowds regarded the old man so highly, thanking him for saving them. If only they knew how they misjudged their so-called savior. Patches seethed, steaming as he scanned the crowd, the adrenaline in his veins bringing out minute details in the wrinkled grimaces of the hollows around him. This bastard was going to get what was coming to him, even if Patches had to burn this settlement to the ground.

Plans of arson were abruptly cut short as the crowd thinned enough Patches caught the back of the thief’s head. Like a child Patches shouted _AH-HA!_ Giving the man he was tracking a heads up to Patches exact location. Like an arrow from a bow the man took off again- Patches couldn’t bring himself to self-flagellate for alerting his thief, his mind had begun to cloud with near giddy exhaustion. Surely he would have plenty of time in his undeath to mourn his lack of awareness in the middle of a heated chase. Their cute little game had been going on for at least a full hour, now. Measuring time accurately was a useless endeavor in Lothric. The chase had run on long enough the ache in his legs gave way to sheer pain, but if he stopped now, he would never catch up. If there was a better way to ruin someone’s day, Patches didn’t know it. There were only so many places to go! He wasn’t too far behind, chasing the thief down a familiar looking straightaway. If he could outlast the little bastard, he might just have a chance. No sooner than the thought left his mind, the thief stuck his arm out, and caught the wooden support of a vendor’s canopy. Like an acrobat, he threw his body weight and used the momentum to launch himself around a half obscured corner. The man landed lightly and scampered out of sight. Patches’ heart drummed in his chest and he broke into a dead sprint. That old creep wouldn’t outwit him- he threw his arm out to catch the wooden pole.

The canopy collapsed immediately and Patches skidded across the ground, grinding to a halt in the dirt. The crowd was shocked into a hush, watching as Patches rolled silently onto his hands and knees, seething through clenched teeth. The near-hollowed vendor had barely opened his mouth to demand compensation when Patches took off, cursing.

The sea of faces blurred together as Patches shoved his way through the crowds, searching for his mark’s unique armor- none of the soldiers on the wall wore armor with that shroud. The common folk here were all farmers and merchants, they wore ragged cloth and leather aprons, the thief wore a battered shawl over his chain mail and leather chest armor. It wouldn’t be too hard to find him if he looked hard enough. A flash of chain mail caught his eye and Patches whipped around to follow. The man was hurriedly walking down an alley, shoulders hunched with nerves. Elated, Patches stopped and reached into his back pocket for his parrying knife. He rested his hand on the hilt lightly, stalking into the alley so as not to disrupt his mark, he had found his bastard. It was a good hunt- he certainly put up a good chase- even if this ending was a little abrupt. Visions of violence danced in Patches’ head, he was sore, unbelievably so, and angry and tired and this revenge was going to be so sweet. He was going to gut this bastard like the yellow bellied coward that he was, that would teach him a lesson about stealing from Patches the Hyena- Patches the Unbreakable! The man he was tracking staggered when he reached the end of the alley, swaying dangerously. An odd sight after all the sure footwork and acrobatics he saw earlier, almost like this guy was drunk. No matter, Patches was drawing his knife when the man in front of him dropped his trousers. Before Patches could voice his concern he realized the man wasn’t wearing the same chain mail armor as his thief- no shawl- and the man wordlessly pulled himself from his clothes and began to piss against the alley wall. This was not his man.

“Are you lost, friend?”

The voice came from behind him and Patches turned on his heel- there he was. Silhouetted by the low sun, he held aloft Patches’ purse, letting it jingle before tucking it away again. Rage and desperation flared in his heart and Patches made a desperate, mad dash- he wasn’t as fast as the man, but if he could move quick enough in just that moment-! The thief stepped to the side and the late sun, in all its brilliance, blinded Patches the second the thief had moved from its path. Hissing, Patches pushed on, even as he blinked the spots in his eyes away, following the sound of the thief’s airy laughter. He wouldn’t lose him this time.

The anger in his heart shot him forward like a polearm rushing forward, he was dizzy with exertion and struggling to keep sights on the man in the dying light, but he couldn’t stop- not when he was __this__ close. Spots clouded his vision, poking holes in the man’s armor and twinkling away, he really hadn’t pushed himself like this in years. His thumping, confident footfalls had long since given way to uncoordinated staggering, having been on his feet and at high alert for hours, keeping one foot in front of the other was a challenge. The rage that burned in his heart was giving way to an ache in his lungs and a stitch in his side, legs long since gone numb, breath ragged as he struggled to keep pace. His thief turned over his shoulder, giving him that same smile, then melted into the crowd. The sun had set and the night crowd was thinning, funneling into houses and taverns. Patches was exhausted. He was tired, and his anger had long since gave way to fatigue. And honestly, he was a little embarrassed, too. That thief was old- an old hollow, at that- how was he so spry? Patches leaned on a wall, struggling to regulate his breathing. Between great, heaving gasps of air he was plagued with a thought. Was it worth the effort? Really, did he have so much in his purse that he would be hurt by this?

The thought rolled around in his mind; should he cut his losses and leave…? Disappointment was wriggling its way into his heart, nestling deep, and sinking it’s claws into his veins. Cold piss. Patches pushed himself off the wall, clearing his throat and hunching his shoulders. He’d best move on. Not wanting to suddenly be out anything else, Patches pat himself down. His usual pouch was still there, his parrying knife, his rings… Everything was here. Patches had almost wished he’d been wrong about this whole chase, that magically he’d just find his coin purse still tied to his hip. A blinking light from a local tavern kept catching his eye, like a fly buzzing about his ears, maybe he had something he could trade for a cold mug. With a low sigh, Patches stalked toward the tavern. This whole trip was a damn loss.

Divine intervention, it had to be. As soon as Patches opened the door to the tavern, he saw his thief. Sitting pretty, haloed by the lanterns lighting the bar. He was alone, but had an extra mug at the empty seat beside him. Patches drew his parrying knife, holding it close to his thigh, and slipped into the seat beside the old man. The thief turned to him with that same smile, the wretched smile that crinkled his eyes and sent a bolt through Patches’ heart. Patches pressed the tip of his knife to the thief’s side and his thief’s expression flickered, still smiling warmly, but now almost amused.

“It’s nice to finally m-meet you. I am Greirat. I appreciate you buying an old man a drink.”

Patches noted his stutter, this old thief was probably scared, as he _finally_ should be.

“You look more like the bastard who stole my money than a damned rat!” Patches growled, and Greirat set Patches’ coin purse on the bar top with a soft chuckle. No sooner than it made contact, Patches had snatched it up like a snake striking.

“It took you some t-time to catch up with me. I was worried you had given up! After that wide eyed stare you gave me, I’d thought maybe I had read you wrong when you weren’t on my tail.”

Patches bristled. _Had this been a game?_

“You know, there are better ways of starting a conversation than knocking into an old man. Why do you think I brought you all the way here?”

The old thief grinned at Patches, watching him through his eyelashes with his mug raised to his lips. Still cautious, Patches pulled the knife back, sifting through Greirat’s words. It had been a game- he’d wanted Patches to follow him to this dimly lit, dingy tavern so he could have him alone. Setting his hand in his lap, knife still ready, Patches regarded Greirat down his nose.

“All that running but I still caught up to you, you’re really not much of a thief, are you?”

Greirat laughed into his drink, foam spilling over the lip of his mug.

“Dear, if I had wanted to escape, you never would have noticed y-your purse was even missing! Consider it a conversation starter. Not to mention I was rather generous wi-with how many times I let you catch up.”

Without so much as a blink Greirat produced a horse hoof ring in his free hand, turning it so it caught the soft light of the candles. Realization took a beat and Patches slapped his own ass patting for his pouch of rings. Greirat tittered softly, setting the ring gently on the bar. He didn’t even feel his pouch move-! Resting his chin lightly on his palm, Greirat gave Patches that killer smile again, he must have thought he was _so clever_ to get Patches cornered, all proud of himself for their little game of cat and _rat_. Greirat set his mug down with a small huff of a laugh.

“Greirat the Thief is a well-known name in this settlement. A reputation built upon my skill with m-my hands, you know.”

Patches went still. _His hands? What the hell-?_

The gaze Greirat was fixing him with clicked in Patches’ mind like slamming a deadbolt home. All those little glances Greirat gave him, the way he teased... It took it’s time to filter through the shock, this whole day, getting his valuables stolen, running _for hours_ after some little old thief, and then getting stolen from- _a second time_ \- that was what he considered flirting?

Seemed to work a hell of a lot better than bumping shoulders and hoping for a miracle. Patches threw his head back with a laugh

“You old bastard, is that how you treat all the handsome young men you meet?”

He clapped a hand on Greirat’s shoulder and the thief laughed heartily. This undead felt different from the usual riffraff Patches dealt with, he was much more open. Old but not burdened by the curse of the undead. The way the crowds moved for him, how elated they were to see him. This man was a rare breed. Patches scooped up his mug, he paid for the drink after all, and knocked it against Greirat’s in cheers.

“If you ever steal anything from me again, I’ll gut you.” Patches smirked, voice deadly serious.

Greirat laughed in the middle of a sip, spilling ale down the side of his mug.

“I wonder if you’ll ke-keep your promise if I steal your heart.” Greirat struggled to spit out his line, his stutter acting up from nerves.

Patches barked out a laugh loud enough the other patrons at the bar whipped around to see what happened. The conversation felt easy, Patches told Greirat about his travels, and Greirat told him about his time thieving in the Lothric castle. He’d been making regular visits up the wall for years, knew ways in and out, and the right places to strike. Greirat would bring supplies and gifts to the settlement, purging stones for those struggling with hollowing, mosses and spices, anything that would bring the undead some sort of relief. It was no mystery Greirat was well loved in the settlement. He was close to an old woman named Loretta- his mother of sorts- when Greirat had first become undead and he found himself banished to the settlement. Loretta took care of him and taught him about the curse of the undead, about hollowing, and how he could keep himself sane. When he spoke of her, his stutter was less pronounced, comforted by her even when she wasn’t nearby.

The night slipped by, Patches describing the land of Lordran to Greirat, how many undead he met, and his home- Boletaria. The kingdom had long since been forgotten, even in his own mind it was only a name, no memories to call upon. He could recall he had a mother, but her face and what she was like was long gone. Greirat chided Patches playfully for calling him old, his memories of Lordran surely must have predated Greirat’s own birth. Patches could only shrug, he wasn’t the kind of man who would dwell on the past, he’d never keep going if he let the weight of his years slow him down, he was always putting one foot forward, eyes to the future.

The drinks flowed till morning, the two thieves moving closer and closer, shoulders brushing as they compared their pasts and futures. The sun had begun to leak through the slats of the walls, and long since cut off by the barkeep, Greirat asked Patches to come to his storeroom, they could sleep the night off. Patches had made up his mind hours before Greirat even asked him, but he still tapped his chin and feigned consideration. Greirat swayed, unsteady after the long night sitting precariously on a barstool, and Patches caught his arm to keep him upright.

“How about I walk you home, and I’ll let you know, luv.” Patches chuckled. He offered his arm and Greirat linked his demurely, thanking him for treating an old rat so nicely. Amused, Patches scoffed as he led them from the tavern. The walk was mostly quiet, both were tired, walking with a sway as they fought off sleep. It was with great hesitation that Greirat pulled away from Patches as they approached his home, a little squat house with what appeared to be a shack attached to the side. He pointed out it was his storeroom, not everything he steals is terribly useful, but he never knew when he’d need it. The conversation slowed, still awkwardly standing outside Greirat’s front door.

“Well?” Greirat started “Made up your mind?”

He wrung his hands, nervously avoiding eye contact. _Cute_. Patches stepped closer, the toes of their shoes nearly touching. He was silent, waiting for till Greirat’s nerves got him to look Patches in the eye.

Patches leaned in and stole a kiss. Greirat gasped softly at the contact, his eyes fluttered shut and he followed him when Patches pulled away. He gave the old rat a good natured laugh; he really was a cute old man.

“An eye for an eye, eh sweeting?” Patches chuckled. Greirat pulled him in for another kiss. He was willing and cute, Patches really couldn’t ask for more, it would be nice not to spend a night alone. Getting attached wasn’t something Patches specialized in, he remembered loyal customers and those who survived their assassination attempt. But if these, honestly, strangers were to disappear forever, there would be no real loss. As Patches laved his tongue between Greirat’s lips he told himself this was just another person to keep in mind, but he wouldn’t be devastated if they should lose contact. In the back of his mind a small voice hoped to god that would never happen.

From then on Patches made sure to stop into the undead settlement whenever he was in Lothric. They had formed a partnership, Greirat was a great customer and they often traded goods; digging through old supplies as an excuse to talk a little longer. They found they would talk long enough the sun would set and Greirat would insist Patches come home with him. He would fix Patches with a look and gesture vaguely.

“Not safe to travel alone at night, y-you know?” He would say, as if he weren’t fully aware it was people like Patches who made the roads unsafe. But every time he did, Patches would give pause. Tap his chin as if thinking, then he would look out at the fading sky and shrug with an exaggerated-

“It can’t be helped!”

So they would come together, Greirat occasionally holding onto Patches’ arm when his legs were acting up, and as they walked back to Greirat’s storeroom the air between them seemed to crackle, charged with excitement. Neither were sure why they needed to put such a show on, and to no one in particular, about Patches staying for the night. Perhaps it was only so there wouldn’t be the shame of rejection if one was turned down. After all, it was dark, and truly the roads were dangerous, but if he didn’t want to stay, Patches would leave.

He didn’t leave, and Patches followed Greirat into his storeroom, a dingy little house with a flimsy excuse for a door. Greirat operated mostly on good faith in the Undead Settlement. If someone were to break his door down, an easy task, he would only lose so much. Greirat gave almost every single thing he stole to his community. The only thing that didn’t get sold was food, as no undead had need for food. Drinks they still found some pleasure in, but from the taste or only just the memories of a cold pint was hard to tell. The pair set about their search, trying to find any peculiar goods the other would find interesting. Patches had shown Greirat so many bizarre artifacts from Lordran. Once, Patches held aloft an acorn- unremarkable until Patches bid Greirat to look harder. Upon closer inspection there were fine hairs protruding from the acorn. When Patches explained its use Greirat blanched- he was lucky to have been unaware of the nightmare of having an egg laid within him. Luckily, Patches spared him the story of the poor sod he’d actually seen in each stage of egg growth.

Patches set to digging through his pack for a ring he swore was at the bottom. He had just felt it, and it couldn’t have gone far! Faced away from him, Greirat was pawing through one of his crates, looking for anything unique, and found an old treat half hidden under jars of expired medicine. He gauged Patches’ interest as he turned back around.

“Honey?” Greirat asked, cupping the jar gently in his hands.

“Yes, sweeting?” Patches answered, not turning from where he was searching in his pack. Greirat cleared his throat softly, turning the jar in his hands. Noting the awkward silence, Patches looked over his shoulder and spotted Greirat shifting uncomfortably, the jar of golden honey in his hands catching the light in the room. Patches’ scalp immediately glistened in a nervous sweat.

Greirat’s natural laugh was so soft and wheezy, to an untrained ear it felt like he was trying, uncomfortably, to be polite. Although odd, the laugh was genuine, but that made Patches twice as defensive, sputtering through his excuses. He could lie through his teeth smoothly even as he was stabbing a man in the back, but calling his dear friend such an embarrassing pet name! He wasn’t a sappy type, he’d drop pet names and terms of endearment on customers no problem, but it was different when it was someone he actually cared for, whose opinion of him mattered. The details of Greirat’s unhooded face were a blur in his mind but the sheer embarrassment of that moment sat with Patches for years. To brush off his bumble he stood to full height, only just taller than Greirat, and doubled down.

“What about the honey, luv?” Patches suavely asked, face profusely red. Terror started to seep its way into Patches’ heart, this playful little interaction was making his heart race. Stepping closer, Greirat extended the jar to let him see, still laughing softly. Not a mocking laugh- he found the slip of the tongue cute. Greirat kept interrupting himself with quiet giggle as he spoke.

“You don’t seem like you need any honey... But, y-you do look as though... You could use some sugar.” Greirat covered his mouth when he laughed at his own joke. Even when he could finally contain his laughter he had a brilliant smile, still crinkling his eyes with how wide it was. _Oh no_. The joke was so bad, and Greirat’s reaction was so _cute_. Forcing any gentle and fuzzy thoughts from his mind, Patches gave him a toothy grin and closed in, taking the jar from Greirat’s hands to set on one of the less cluttered tables in the storeroom. He reminded himself this was just a fling, someone he happened to keep bumping into, he was Patches the Hyena, Patches the Unbreakable, not Patches the Devoted. He was probably just horny. Greirat looked up at him demurely, lamp light flickering in his eyes. He hoped to _god_ he was just horny as he cupped Greirat’s cheek and kissed him firmly. It wasn’t a perfect kiss, but it had Greirat melting against him, he wrapped his arm around Patches’ middle, and pulled him close. It was so easy to get Greirat to relax, Patches could sway him with any sort of touch, gently brushing his fingertips across his arm, even just holding him around his waist. The little old man was so touch starved. Their practiced rhythm was so easy to fall back into, it had been a few months since his last visit, but once Patches got a taste, it was like it was the night they first met again

With a little sound, Greirat cupped Patches’ neck, cradling his head as Patches kissed him; all the urges that had built up in his absence flooded his mind and he kissed back hard enough to hurt. With a short nip Patches encouraged Greirat to open his mouth, he flicked his tongue into Greirat’s mouth and could feel the way his legs shook. The fingers flexing against Patches’ neck were encouraging, and Greirat writhed against him, lapping hesitantly to meet Patches’ tongue. The old man was too cute to resist; and he smoothed his hands down Greirat’s back, cupping his ass briefly, before leaning in just a tad to wrap Greirat’s thigh around his hip. The intimate grip had Greirat shivering against Patches’ chest, moaning softly into Patches’ mouth.

“Already this excited, are we?” Patches teased, knowing he was no better- he was entirely red.

Picking at Patches’ shirt collar, Greirat locked eyes and gave Patches a nod, his eyes were blown with want. The look shot through Patches heart and landed squarely in his cock. _Oh dear._ Still holding his stare, Patches squeezed Greirat’s ass- and watched the sensation ripple through his face in real time, the way his eyebrows knit, raised as if pleading, how his eyelashes fluttered, and how he bit his lip with a whimper. With the last of the gentleness inside him, Patches sat Greirat back on an unopened crate. There was no way Patches would last tonight, he wrapped Greirat’s other thigh around him and crashed against his lips, almost feverish with how he kissed. The new position let Greirat lock his legs around Patches, needing the stability with how excited Patches was. It was almost too much, Greirat’s soft sounds were crowding Patches’ mind, making it hard for any rational thoughts to get through his muddled mind. The animal impulse to rut lit up his brain like a light, and Patches ground his hips against Greirat’s. Oh- the noise his rat made- his legs shook and he tried to whimper Patches’ name. This old man was bad for his heart, but his dick certainly appreciated it. Patches ground his hips against Greirat’s again as he nosed his way to his neck, following his pulse till his lips were pressed to the shell of his ear. His breath was warm and made Greirat shiver when he mumbled against it

“What did you say, luv?”

Greirat whined, Patches already knew that he said... if he wanted to hear it again he should just ask. Patches nipped his ear in response, tugging on the lobe till Greirat’s fist clenched in his shirt. The both of them were dizzy and Greirat stiffened, gasps coming erratically, he was getting too old to be messing around for much longer. Impatient, Patches kissed at Greirat’s neck, pausing to nip and suck at the vein hot under his tongue, Greirat tipped his head back, giving Patches a beautiful view of his neck. He bit Greirat’s throat and the old man quailed, sinking his nails into Patches’ shoulders as he moaned Patches’ name.

His dick was unreasonably hard, he could ease some pressure grinding, but Patches needed some direct attention. This old rat had him wrapped around his finger and didn’t even know. Panting, Patches nosed his way along the underside of Greirat’s chin, drinking in his natural scent; a little earthy, but smelled of ash and warmth, a comforting smell with the thick, heady scent of sweat to dull his mental processes further. It took him a moment to notice Greirat patting his shoulder, head now rolled forward. Patches quirked a brow at him and Greirat leaned in to whisper something to him.

“Let me go, I-I want to try something.” He said softly, nervous stutter bleeding into his speech again. When Patches stood back Greirat slipped from his perch on the crate, unsteady legs wobbling, blood supposed to be supporting him being elsewhere.

Honestly hoping it was head, Patches watched as Greirat slipped behind him. He turned to look at him, waiting to see what he was going to do, and Greirat turned him away, but sidled in close so Patches wouldn’t think he was leaving him. He nudged Patches forward, bumping his hips against the crate, and reassured him with a smile when Patches looked over his shoulder, visibly confused.

“I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Even with that, Patches was still nervous, he had made plenty of enemies, and didn’t like to be without a wall at his back, he especially didn’t like having someone behind him, unarmed or not. On edge, he jumped when Greirat slid his hand up his back, tracing over his ribs to a shoulder, before Greirat cupped the back of his neck. Fear shot through Patches on instinct, stiffening. This was not a spot he liked to be in. Greirat was nearly his height and had never given him a reason to think he’d attack, but the hand at his neck made his heart race. The crate groaned with how Patches gripped the edge, white knuckling the ancient wood.

“Calm down.... you’re like a cornered animal.” Greirat cooed. He stroked his thumb over the stair of vertebrae at the base of Patches neck and Patches gulped thickly. Greirat bent Patches over gently, slowly, waiting to see if Patches would retaliate. He did still under Greirat’s hand, neck tensing as he steeled himself. After all, Greirat most likely _wouldn’t_ stab him, but he’s been stabbed before, and he pulled through! It would just be a shame if Greirat _were_ to stab him, he would never acknowledge it for what it was, but Patches enjoyed his company, he liked how open Greirat was, and how Greirat moaned, and how he smiled, and how he collected trinkets to show Patches when he visited. Greirat was on his mind when he pillaged, too. And late at night when he was alone with just his thoughts and a nice, creamy salve. Even when he found himself in some run down little human city, where brothels weren’t yet empty, Patches always found himself with Greirat in his mind’s eye even as he laid with another. Luckily the sheer embarrassment of that realization got his mind off the situation at hand long enough for Greirat to press in close, bumping his hips against Patches’ ass.

“It’s very kind of you to always do th-the work for me, but I want you to just sit back tonight.”

The huskiness in his voice melted Patches’ nerves slightly, actively willing himself to relax under Greirat’s hand. He was very slow, deliberate in how he slid his hand up Patches’ back, then down to his hip, the other hand still firmly, but not cruelly, cupping the back of Patches’ neck. Having felt him calm enough, Greirat slipped a hand down Patches’ thigh, fingers creeping to the inseam of his pant leg. Almost ticklish, Patches gasped against the crate he was pressed on, and he adjusted his grip on the edge of the crate, almost trembling from nerves. Sensing his rising anxiety, Greirat softly peppered kisses against Patches’ back, moving slowly so as to not scare him. Still trying to be gentle, Greirat nudged his legs apart with his thigh, though he was having some difficulty. Patches was opening his legs as willingly as he opened his purse, stiffly and with a lot of encouragement. It would almost be comical if it weren’t so frustrating. Leaning forward on his toes, Greirat kissed Patches’ neck, pressing wet kisses till he was at his ear.

“Dear, relax... I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” Greirat whispered, with a smirk pressed to Patches’ ear. Still trembling from tension under Greirat’s hand, Patches opened his mouth to retort when Greirat cupped him properly and all that fell from Patches’ mouth was a broken, low moan. The heat radiating from Greirat’s palm almost seared Patches’ through his trousers. Nerves already pulled taut, Patches found himself struggling to fully relax. The contact was delicious, he could feel each of Greirat’s fingers individually, but his instinct to run was hard to ignore. A man like Patches is not one that could calm when he’s caged. Though the way Greirat was working his palm over Patches’ clothed cock certainly had Patches reevaluating the odds of Greirat stabbing him. His blood felt hotter, thicker, making it hard to think through the fuzzy, dirty thoughts sliding carelessly through his brain. Getting stabbed was still a low chance, but even if he did stab him, maybe he would be kind enough to do so after Patches had cum. The thought of an orgasm at another’s hand was enough to make Patches’ dick throb.

Flattered, Greirat chuckled airily against Patches’ ear, smoothing his hand over the tent in Patches’ trousers as it twitched and grew. The appeal of the position had finally started to make sense when Patches bucked into Greirat’s hand and the friction between their hips made Greirat gasp into Patches’ ear. Experimentally, Patches pressed his hips back, against Greirat’s, stirring his hips ever so slightly. The grip on his dick tensed, and the old rat stuttered through a moan, loud and warm against Patches’ ear. This he could get used to.

Emboldened by the cute noises Greirat was making, he pressed against his hips in earnest, and teased Greirat, who shivered. The old man’s groping faltered as Patches played with him, so pent up from their months apart that even just a little brush was making Greirat’s eyelids flutter. Shaking himself from his stupor, Greirat palmed Patches again, tutting at himself for getting so distracted, but how that Patches had seen the chink in his armor, he was set to exploit it. Younger men were cute, but never liked to do what they were told, too full of energy. While it felt like a dream to have such delicious contact, it’s not what Greirat had wanted. Trying to gain control of the situation again, Greirat sucked a mark behind Patches’ ear. The small, sweet affection made Patches’ hips stutter and slow, all the nerves in his body felt like they’d gone dark, entirely focused on where Greirat was sucking a hickey on his neck. His knees trembled, his neck was sensitive, especially so when it was such a cute old thief paying attention to it. When Greirat bit him, stars popped in his vision, just the right amount of pressure that he was scared it might hurt, enough to make his dick jump in Greirat’s palm. Greirat pulled off slowly, and laved his tongue across the heated skin, that was what kind of pace he wanted to set, an evening entirely in his control.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t bite unless I wanted you to.” Patches teased. In response Greirat bit him again, sinking his teeth into the junction of Patches’ neck and shoulder. Patches’ knees knocked together, head bowing as he moaned.

“I know you w-well enough.” Greirat whispered against Patches’ ear.

To illustrate his point, Greirat slipped his hand past Patches’ waistband, and cupped Patches through his braies. He was so warn in his palm, he could almost feel his heartbeat through the linen, it was flattering. He pressed himself close to Patches, using his free hand to push his trousers low enough he could undo the string they held his braies up. Unheeded by cloth, Patches’ cock sprung up, still hanging low with how heavy with blood it was, but nearly leaking just from Greirat’s teasing. Greirat wrapped his hand around Patches softly, slowly, watching out of the corner of his eye how Patches’ face contorted in his peripheral vision. He started slowly, stroking Patches gently, the weak bubbling of pre and his sweat slicked palm easing his stroking.

Pure heat, Patches really had missed his little thief, the way he held him with confidence made his eyes roll back. To try and keep his head, Patches pressed his cheek to the crate, Greirat always had a way of inspiring Patches to spend himself early. The way his grip would change when he pumped, the roughness of his palms from years of work, even Greirat’s soft voice in his ear, it was like a knife right through the ribs. Greirat thumbed Patches’ leaking slit and he moaned against the crate, grinding his hips into Greirat’s fist. Patches barely registered Greirat’s little chuckle before he felt his thigh slip between his own, slotting him as close as he could get. He really was getting spoiled, his little old rat slid his thigh deliciously between Patches’ own as he pumped him. The poor crate he was braced on creaked painfully as Greirat leaned in close again, laying his full and pitiful body weight on Patches’ back as he peppered kisses up Patches’ neck.

“What a dirty young man you are…” Greirat chuckled. “I’m barely even moving.”

It really had been too long since his last visit, Patches was already losing himself in the feeling, he could barely keep his eyes open. The warm hand on his cock and those soft lips on his neck, if he weren’t undead he’d fear for his life. Maybe he could even go hollow from pleasure, losing himself in the sensation. Greirat nipped at his neck and Patches jumped in his grip with a groan. The rhythm was easy to fall into, and Greirat smeared pre down Patches’ shaft, smoothing his pumping. Just as Patches got comfortable, forcing himself to take deep breaths so he wouldn’t embarrass himself, Greirat closed his hand around the head of Patches’ cock. He smoothed his palm it in circles, smearing pre till it bubbled out between his fingers. It caught Patches off guard, he was already steeling himself to last through Greirat’s pumping, and he threw his head back with a filthy moan. This wasn’t fair, Patches tried to bite back his sounds, but Greirat just slid his thigh against him again, sending sparks up Patches’ spine. If he could just breathe evenly for a minute he could hold out a little longer. Greirat changed his grip and Patches breathed a shaky exhale.

Normally a quick fuck wouldn’t be an issue, but the way Greirat had him bent over, the vulnerable position, it made Patches nervous. He wanted to save face, even as his sweet old rat had done all this work just to make him feel good. It seemed like his rat was tired of being the one bent over. Patches laughed to himself remembering the odd phrase Greirat often said, a cornered rat will lick the balls of a cat, maybe if he was lucky enough.

“How d-does it feel? Better than a brothel?” Greirat teased, breathless.

“Certainly cheaper than one!” Patches bit out, still holding onto the crate as if it would save his life.

Sparks in his blood kept popping, making him twitch his hips unevenly in Greirat’s fist. As much as he loved his thief, his brain kept stopping at their position, his back to another person, trapped between a body and an obstacle, this was by no means safe for him, and even though he was sure Greirat would never betray him, how could he really know? What if Greirat was on the verge of hollowing? What if one of his old acquaintances paid him off, and he was going to slit his throat? What if his heart was actually swayed by the attention he was getting and their little meet and fuck relationship they had grew into -

“Ouch! What was that for?” Patches yelped, sucked from his thought in an instant as Greirat bit his ear.

“You need to stop thinking so hard, I-I can almost hear your thoughts.” Greirat teased Patches with his thigh again, rubbing against the underside of his groin to hear Patches’ stuttering moan.

“It’s my turn to worry- j-just enjoy yourself.” Greirat kissed over the bite he left. His breath was always so hot, it made Patches shiver. Having Greirat’s voice so close to him and husky with desire did much more for him than he would ever admit. The old man was nearly humming to himself, so contented with Patches’ gasping moans, and the way his dick twitched in his grasp. Enjoy himself, huh? Wouldn’t hurt to try. Patches sucked a breath through his teeth and rolled his shoulders back, this felt nice, he just had to focus. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken any nails when he finally pried his hands from the crate, they were sore as he clenched them, but he buried his face in his arms, trying to relax into the makeshift pillow. Behind him he could hear Greirat’s soft chuckle, and what sounded suspiciously like Greirat calling him a good boy. There was no time to question him as Greirat thumbed the slit of Patches’ cock, coupled with his rhythmic grinding between his thighs, Patches bit his sleeve to muffle his moan.

“You know you’re very comely.” Greirat breathed. “When the nights drag on too long... I think ab-about you.” He dragged his thigh between Patches’, grinding against him with a stuttered sigh.

“You get this... Hungry look in your eyes.”

Patches raised his head from his arms, trying to crane his neck to see Greirat’s face. He was too close to get a good look, but he could see the flush high on Greirat’s cheeks, his expression almost sleepy with how lidded his eyes were.

“It’s all I need to push me over the edge.”

Patches’ eyes rolled back, thrusting into Greirat’s hand wildly, spending himself in his grip, spattering the crate and Greirat. Laying boneless on the crate, Patches started to slide, and Greirat stepped in to gently ease Patches to the floor with a little laugh. With a little step away, Greirat busied himself finding a rag to clean his hand with, wiping his fingers off on a scrap of a stolen silken dress. Satisfied with his work, he gingerly stood over Patches, watching him pull himself from his haze. Back braced against the crate, panting, Patches looked up at Greirat with a devilish smirk, still hungry for more. Greirat cupped his jaw and tilted his head up to meet his eyes, he pressed his thumb to Patches’ lips and traced his wicked smile. Nipping at his thumb, Patches smoothed his hands up the back of Greirat’s thighs. He leaned in to nuzzle the crook of Greirat’s hip.

“My turn, love.”


End file.
